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Monday, 6 November 2017

Neat, pristine, illuminated with countless dazzling lights all round the
clock, long unwinding byroads rendered so clean that they give back a mirror
reflection, a waft of pure air, no traffic rules yet civilian norms that better
all set standards and a close knit territory of affection between people, who
we proudly call the NTPC family. This is not a utopia I am talking
about. This is my first home in NTPC, my love, Unchahar.

The place where a timid girl in early twenties landed with her one year old
baby to join the much prestigious unit of the country’s biggest power
conglomerate, NTPC Limited, as a newly recruited officer. Away from the
rustling humdrum of city life, at a location sparsely explainable to common
man, I made my little first nest of love here. The inhibitions of being a
stranger in township, hesitation of embarking a new journey and turmoil of how
would I be able to bring up my baby (and connect my husband, Priyank) in this
bizarre place was just brewing up when the people in township pitched in to
adopt our small family of three.

Within days, I was surrounded with so much of love, affection and a hand of
support that I smirked at my pettiness of judging the place even before I
stayed there. While my year-old baby girl fondly lapped from one arm to another
in her newly founded neighbourhood, Unchahar flung its hearts open to espouse
Priyank, like a son-in-law. Meanwhile, corporate stalwarts of the Company,
posted in the station, mentored me with utter prowess leading my way to learn
the finesse of my profession.

If there was anything more heartening than my new work and home, it was the
strange indescribable bond of affection floating effortlessly in the township’s
air. It was just meant to be! A culture I had neither seen nor
heard about anywhere else, even in the texts of hundreds of literature I had
read.

The memories of the next five years I spent in the township remain fresh
and crisp like dried maple leaves. A grand stadium where I took my baby for a
stroll,
the swimming pool exclusively for township residents, the clubs where thousands
of us gathered to celebrate Holi together breaking all barriers of
gender, class or corporate levels, Dussera that ran for a fortnight
under tight CISF security, cultural evenings on any random occasion, fun-fares
every quarter, housie, quizzes, competitions, dramatics, musical evenings, live
concerts and to top it all, splendid new year’s eve ending in incessant dancing,
without least pandemonium, that lasted up till new sun’s break. Apart from
this, our weekends got booked for personal birthday parties, which is pretty
obvious when your number of acquaintances run in hundreds within a periphery of
five kilometers.

I would have remained deluded forever in the warm memories of Unchahar
until the ill-fated evening of 01st November, 2017 when one
loud thud from an industrial accident in the newly commissioned sixth unit of
the power plant jolted us all. The tragedy had claimed innocent lives and many got
severely injured. Sitting in the regional headquarters at Lucknow, the heartrending news over a phone call changed
the entire gambit of emotions.

In
less than a second, there was no time to stop, think over, talk, discuss or
even cry over. It was time to act! And act at a lightning speed!

The real story begins here.

The story of last five days when I saw NTPC, my Company, rise
like Phoenix from ashes.

I was right there at the Control Room at Lucknow witnessing
what goes into handling the aftermaths of tragedy forsaken people. Media was
flashing news of haphazard, piece meal stories of an incident that had not even
completely gotten over, across all channels. Within minutes, my PR section ran
desperately from one pillar to post to prevent false information doing rounds
while the top bosses of the Company immediately flew down to take stock of the
situation. They cared two hoots about how anyone around would blame, accuse or
react. If there was anything in mind, it was quick relief work and rescuing
of lives.

Within next couple of hours, three Control Rooms were set up
parallel at Unchahar plant, NRHQ-Luckow and Corporate Centre-New Delhi.
Volunteers stepped in to take charge of various post duties at Unchahar,
Raebareli, several hospitals in Luckow and Delhi. The duties extended beyond
18-24 hours and yet none, not even one volunteer, gave a whimper. In
last five days, I have seen, junior engineers to senior most officials of the
Company skip their meals, night sleeps, priorities, familial obligations and
even regular medicines to be able to give their complete being into fixing the
situation.

Some would have toddler kids suffering with fever back home,
spouses staying alone in remote locations or dependents in hospitals yet there wasn’t
anyone who wanted to back off. Provision of medical aid, disbursement of
compensation, entire fraternity of executives pledging one day’s salary, one
volunteer with each patient taking care right from arrival to his dignified
return to hometown are just couple of relief measures. But what goes behind
healing of Unchahar is a much deeper sense of love and belongingness.

There remains moments which can neither be documented, nor
be spoken in words. Moments that shake us from inside and change the person we
are. In times to come, there might be many stories going around on the Unchahar
tragedy or the heroism with which it was dealt with but no one will ever tell
you what it feels to be a part of the tragedy.

There would be stories citing certain number of people died
but I bet, no one will tell you how much it pains to hand over body of a young
boy to his old, dependent, helpless and tearful father. Stories telling how
injured people were medically treated in the hospital but no one will tell you
what it is to hold the hand of a patient writhing in bed and yelping in pain.
Stories telling you about dignified farewell to the deceased but no will tell
you how a mortuary smells! Stories telling how stupendously the Control Rooms executed
the relief work but no one will tell how the heartbeat sinks every time you hear
the injury toll increase. Only our
NTPC family would know who are healing the wound with their love potion!

This too shall pass! But the solidarity that binds us
together to rise through difficult times will remain indelibly imprinted in our
lives forever. No one and nothing can tear us apart.